Broken Pieces
by Seraphina DW
Summary: Why PG13? I don't want anyone 13 to read this for its depressing content. This story is told 1st person from Relena's POV after she resigns. She dreams of something more while struggling with depression and loneliness.


I've been pretending. All these years on television - just some polite act on the world stage. So then, let the curtains fall for the final act. I am tired now, so very tired of keeping that smile on my face which constantly becomes more dreary by the day. Minute even. It's not only that that's been eating at me. It's the constant loneliness. Of course I am always surrounded by people, whether they be a fan or a politician, but they are all so distant. There's no one who I can talk to who wouldn't keep the conversation to themselves, and not sell it to the ever-eager press.

I make my decision, and it is final. I have shocked the world, but I do not care. I walk away with a burden lifted off of my shoulders, the meager satisfaction of resigning not nearly fulfilling my more discrete desires. 

I stride outside and am immediately bombarded by cameras and a million questions. My bodyguards guide me through the commotion and I try to answer as many questions as possible. And, without doubt, a smile is back on my face. And, as it always was before, it is not genuine. White plaster coated with sugar is all.

"Vice Foreign Minister Darlian, is it true that you and ex-Gundam pilot of Zero One have had a relationship?"

"Pardon?" I ask politely, my training blocking the shock out of my voice.

"Is it true that you had a romantic relationship with-"

"Absolutely not," I interrupt hastily, but clearly. 

My guards escort me into my sleek, silver limo. Once I am seated comfortably inside, the vehicle begins to crawl to a start from the curb before passing through an iron gate and onto the main road. I watch out of a tinted window, the trees pass by and the shaded gray sky above, not believing that I had answered that question with such a calm manner. If asked a year ago, I might've blanked out, but then again, I was trained specifically not to. It wouldn't look good in the news anyway…not like I care anymore.

Care. Kindness. Love. All of these I give to the people of the Earth and Space till I have hardly any left for myself. Refills have come down my way every blue moon, from the happy faces of children or from the appreciative ones of adults. Though I accept this love, I need another kind of form, but it is currently unavailable to me, for reasons I am not aware of. 

What is wrong with me? I ask myself that every time I think about this subject. Why can't anyone love _me_? I know I am thinking like a silly schoolgirl, which I am no longer. Much more important issues lay at hand, so why can't I concentrate on them instead? These lost emotions, these desires and cravings for love have taken total control of my mind, while I lay still, watching helplessly as they do so.

Heero, I think. I scream inwardly. Why, why, why? Why must it always narrow down on him? He's not the only one out there for the taking. Obsession. Must be. I think I'm becoming a desperate fool, which is hardly the thing to be for a politician. I am not that anymore, I remind myself.

I can't take it. I hold my head between my head as the car strolls down the road incredibly smoothly, as if on a beautiful summer day compared to the stormy havoc in my heart. If I am a desperate fool, I'd take anyone to be my lover. Some hope is given, but hardly enough to quench all doubts. I am almost desperate.

Finally, I arrive home. Home. It no longer feels like a home. It is an empty, cold coffin for my skeleton to wander into for rest. There is no compassion. There is no relief for my fractured and wilted body. 

I lay myself down onto my hard bed. The once soft covers have turned stiff, and scratch against my skin as I pull them up to my shoulders. I do not bother to change out of my clothes. I am far too tired.

Soon, my conscious is captured and thrown into a land of dreams. In a misty fog, I step and breathe in cool, crisp air. The atmosphere is the same as it is every time I fall asleep, when night rules over the world. Squaring my shoulders, I walk forward, the intense fog obscuring everything in my line of vision. Slate slabs wobble unsteadily under my feet, and I realize that I am in a garden for a faint floral scent drifts into my nostrils. At this sudden discovery, the fog lifts till it is almost a clear, but cloudy day. It is indeed a garden, and I am surrounded by a maze of neatly trimmed hedges that lead into eternity, pale pink buds popping from the intense mass of green. The air is still cold.

I hear a stone split behind me and spin around. A person with deep blue eyes and wild brown hair stares at me, a rose twirling gently between two slender fingers. He is wearing an old, worn-out, plaid shirt over a pitch black top, his pants, dark, midnight, denim jeans.

I breathe in cool air again. I watch puffs of evaporation come out of my nose as I exhale. With barely enough courage, I coax my vocal cords to work.

"Heero," I greet him shakily, despite all my efforts to calm my beating heart.

"Relena," he responds, his tone serious and deep on my name.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, knowing the absurdity of the question. This is all a dream anyway. What does it matter?

"I am here on your request," he answers sincerely.

Puzzled, I ask my most hated question, "Why?"

"You requested me," he repeats and proceeds to take a few steps forward on the broken stone path, and closer to me. Now, he is standing barely two feet away from me while I stare into his eyes that are splattered with crystals of light blue that reach at identical, round, black holes. Holes that are carved as an doorway to him. A window blocked by the darkness.

"I didn't," I deny though I don't know why. Ah yes, it is because this is a dream. All but a simple, stupid dream…

"You did. You are. Why?" he questions me, his gaze never leaving mine. My heart begins to beat louder in my ears and this incredible ache tears at my chest. I don't know why. I just do not know anything anymore.

The ache in my chest dulls and an acute feeling of coldness replaces it. I shiver, my lower lip quivering. The day's temperature had suddenly dropped.

It begins to rain, in slow motion. I tear my eyes away from his and watch, fascinated, with the drops falling down slowly from the cloudy sky. The sun's light hardly penetrates from the curtains of clouds, but it is enough to make this world of my creation, enchanting. 

I fall to my knees and onto a broken piece of gray stone that is turning into a darker shade with each drop that falls onto it, a crown of droplets forming with each impact. Though I am distracted, the coldness within tugs at my attention till it receives it, completely. I grab at my arms to gather warmth, but it does not work.

Hanging my head low, my eyes water. I know I am alone. In my beautiful world of fantasy, I am still alone. My fabricated Heero is exactly that. The desire to wake up enlarges itself into a bursting bubble. A lone tear streams down my face in my silent mourning.

Warmth radiates from the body near mine, which is hunched over, nearly touching my own. Oh, how I wish it would. Logic reminds me that this is still a dream. Another tear falls.

"I want to hold you," I admit, my voice unsteady in its hushed tone, increasingly bare, "but you are not real."

"I am in this world," he responds again, but in a gentle way. I can feel his breath on my neck. It feels real. It isn't.

It isn't real. It won't ever be. It's not going to happen. I break down and scream aloud till my voice cracks. My body feels like it is cracking and falling into innumerable shards. The coldness is stinging pain on every inch of my body, inside and out. The once-thought-beautiful raindrops feel like metal balls pounding into my scalp.

Then, the coldness and pounding are ushered away. The soft, worn feeling of old cotton presses against my cheek, along with the safety of love. Love. Is it really for me this time? I have waited so long for this… or is my mind just playing dirty tricks on my heart? It feels almost real…the texture of his shirt…the warmth emanating from his body…his love…was it for me? Is it for me? A dream…_no_…

I bury my head deeper into his shirt and I shiver again. His arms tighten around my frail body holding myself to him protectively. The rose he twirled in his fingers continued to bloom radiantly, its aroma floating around me. For the first time since the beginning of my political career, I feel safe and not so lonely with him. With Heero. I love him. It isn't infatuation anymore. I learned about his true self throughout the Eve Wars, that human side of him that hid behind his steel shield. But with me, it could not shield him away from my eyes. I know him. I love him. I am a woman in love. And this is still a dream.

I wake up with a content feeling inside instead of the usual confusion and coldness. Slowly, I open my eyes to stare into another pair of maddening deep blue. I am keenly aware of a warm body next to mine, and especially of an arm slung loosely around my trim waist.

"Heero, what are you doing here?" I ask in a curious voice, wondering if I was still dreaming.

"My mission failed," he replies, furthering the enigma in my brain which is still trying to figure the meaning of his often too short, responses.

"What do you mean?" I ask again. Perhaps I am just dense, but how could a mission failure lead him to me? I try to roll away to get some distance between us, but his firm hand does not allow my body to move any farther away.

He murmurs in a deep voice, "I have been discovered."

Then, it clicks. His mission was to be near me, but I ruined it by waking up. Anger and confusion rage within me and my mouth is ajar, no sound emerging from it as of yet.

"Heero…" I whisper harshly, and am cut off before finishing my sentence with the encounter of plush lips. It is gentle, loving, long, but too short for my liking. We continue to express our affection, exploring each other in an intimate interaction that was never known to either of us up to this moment. As I adjust to this new feeling, I can feel my restrictions failing and my responses becoming more and more eager and desperate. How long have I waited for this moment? It seemed like ages before. I want this so much. I need this.

I kiss him hungrily, almost like a starved person, tasting and savoring the feeling of his lips on mine. We end it breathless and gasping, surprised at our unexpected actions.

While regaining his breath he holds me against his soft, worn cotton shirt and strokes my hair in a soothing pattern. I hold him, fearing it be my only chance at doing so. His breath is hot on my neck, and I bury my face into his shirt again, thinking this to be a dream.

"I wanted you to," he whispers into my ear. "I wanted you to discover me."

I look up at his face, his expression genuine and meaningful, somewhat tender like it always is when I am near him. He knows. He knows I love him like nothing else. He accepts…

"Stay," I ask and do not plead like I used to. It is his decision, I finally realize. I cannot force him to do anything against his will, not like I would want to. "Stay with me."

He nods, and leans his head over mine till his lips brush against my ear. He speaks, though no words are audible; I understand him. A sudden feeling of being uplifted overwhelms me and I hug him as hard as I can - a way of showing thanks for giving life back to me. The dying fire in me bursts, with his love as its fuel, into a wild array of flames, leaving a tingling sensation echoing throughout my being. 

"I love you," I whisper, looking up to capture his eyes once more. "I love you," I say with reassured confidence. He smiles, and I can't help myself from smiling back. I have found my life. We are soon drawn to each other, this newfound force guiding us to each other, filling the empty void in each other with love, slaying the loneliness that has plagued us for so long. 

Holding you in my arms, I am, reveling in the smoothness of your skin as I trace a finger along your scars. I press my lips against them, accepting your faults, yet loving you all the same. Your hands move along the back of a body I was ashamed of until you found beauty in it. How you have saved me again, my thanks, beyond words…

***

AN: I didn't know quite how to end this. The idea just came up, so I wrote it down. After editing it, it doesn't look so bad. Anyway, what did you think of it? I'd really like to know, reviews being a writer's food. If you disliked it, please tell me what you disliked about it so I can improve and write better stories. Thanks.


End file.
